3 Days Until I'm an Old Fart - Humor Column

-

In exactly 3 days—February 22nd, to be exact—I will turn 41.

Because of this impending doom, I am currently experiencing a level of DREAD usually reserved for people who are about to be audited by the IRS or forced to assemble a bunk bed using only an Allen wrench and a diagram drawn by a hostile alien race.

People try to tell you that age is just a number. These people are liars. Age is a highly aggressive biological repo man coming to collect your cartilage.

The dread really sets in when I look at my daily life. I have a six-year-old son, Caleb. MEDICAL FACT: Six-year-old boys do not have a standard human circulatory system; they are powered by a small, internalized nuclear fusion reactor that requires them to be moving at 400 miles per hour, bouncing off the walls, and asking 8,000 questions a minute about where bugs go when it rains.

Meanwhile, at almost-41, I possess the overall structural integrity and get-up-and-go of my 2013 Dodge Dart. When Caleb wants me to sprint across the yard, I have to mentally calculate the torque on my knees, submit a request to my lower back in triplicate, and factor in the wind resistance of my own exhausted sighs.

Then there is the horrifying realization of what I now consider "fun." In your twenties, a thrilling weekend involves danger, romance, and questionable decisions at 2 a.m. At 40.9 years old, my idea of a wild Friday night is treating myself to a keto-friendly dinner that is essentially just a block of cream cheese trying to pass itself off as pizza crust, and then getting under the covers by 8:45 PM.

I am not making this up. I am getting genuinely, passionately fired up about the lumbar support on my couch and the fact that I found my favorite brand of bacon on sale. This is what DREAD looks like, folks. It looks like a grown man experiencing an adrenaline rush because he successfully sneezed without pulling a muscle in his neck.

There is no parade for 41. There is only the realization that your favorite activities now involve sitting down, and your biggest enemy is a stiff breeze. By the time Sunday rolls around, I fully expect to blow out my candles and immediately pull a hamstring.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Invested in Bitcoin at Winn-Dixie (And Other Signs of Impending Doom) - Humor Column

-
Grocery stores used to be simple. You walked in, you bought your discount meat, and you left. Now they want you to invest in the future of global finance while you're standing next to the claw machine. At 40.9 years old, my personal financial strategy consists of hoping the check engine light on my 2013 Dodge Dart is just a suggestion, keeping my fingers crossed that Caleb doesn't outgrow his shoes this week, and occasionally finding a crumpled five-dollar bill in my laundry. I am not what you would call a HIGH FINANCE EXPERT. But the other day, Caleb and I are at Winn-Dixie. I am there to buy heavy cream and an offensive amount of bacon because I am still punishing myself with the keto diet. MEDICAL FACT: If you eat enough bacon, your body eventually stops realizing it's starving for carbohydrates and just accepts its greasy, miserable fate. While I am comparing the prices of pork products, Caleb has wandered over to the front of the store. He is currently vibrating at a f...
Read more

My Son Thinks Blockbuster is a Dinosaur (And Other Tragedies of Middle Age)

-
In exactly two days, I will turn 41 years old. I know this because my lower back sent me a certified letter this morning stating that it will no longer be participating in any activity more strenuous than a mild sneeze. At 40.9 years old, my body has officially transitioned from a functional human organism into a heavily depreciated 2013 Dodge Dart. I make grinding noises when I shift gears, I leak fluids when I stand up too fast, and I require constant, expensive maintenance just to keep the check engine light from blinding me. This physical decline is not helped by my current dietary strategy. In a desperate attempt to fend off the expanding reality of middle age, I have committed myself to the keto diet. MEDICAL FACT: The keto diet is a scientifically endorsed method of tricking your body into starvation by forcing you to eat nothing but bacon, heavy cream, and vegetables that have been tortured into shapes they were never meant to hold. Last night, I ate a "pizza" where t...
Read more

How to Buy a Stranger a House in Two Weeks (A Guide by Grandma Susan) - Humor Column

-
There is a universal law of nature that dictates what a grandmother is supposed to be. A grandmother is supposed to bake cookies, smell faintly of peppermint, and sneak twenty-dollar bills into your pocket while whispering that your parents are too strict. Caleb’s grandmother, Susan, missed this memo. Susan is 67 years old, but she operates under the firm delusion that she is a 24-year-old cast member on a Bravo reality show. Let us start with the makeup. Susan will not leave the house without a full, theatrical face of cosmetics. I am not talking about a quick swipe of lipstick. I mean a layer of foundation so structurally dense that it requires a trowel, a curing period, and a municipal zoning permit. If a meteor strikes the earth tomorrow, the only things to survive will be cockroaches and Susan’s contouring. But the real comedy comes from Susan's deeply held, unwavering conviction that Caleb’s mother, Ashley, and I are raging drug addicts. Just to set the record straight: we ar...
Read more